


Look After Him

by daystarsearcher



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, Angst, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fuck Or Die, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Missing Scene, PWP, Time Lords are xenophobic jerks, psst the Doctor has a human fetish pass it on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 08:07:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5820754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daystarsearcher/pseuds/daystarsearcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kanpo Rimpoche told Sarah Jane to look after the Doctor, but not everything that that might entail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look After Him

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle.  
>   
>  **Warnings:** Contains a variation on that good old trope, Aliens Made Them Do It. Also contains references to my pet theory that Time Lords would regard a preference for sex outside the species as a psychological disorder and the Doctor as a perverted human fetishist.  
>   
>  **Continuity Notes** : This takes place during ‘Robot,’ directly after the Brigadier leaves the lab where the Doctor is presumably sleeping. In this fic, it turns out he was faking it.  
>   
>  **Disclaimer** : It all belongs to the BBC. Except for one line by the Doctor, which belongs to Karl Marx.

Only Aunt Lavinia, and only if she had looked closely, would have been able to tell that Sarah Jane had been crying. Thankfully, Aunt Lavinia was off on a lecture tour of the States and in no danger of dropping by. 

Yes, she was quite alone.

Sarah removed the key from the ignition and leaned back in the seat, taking a deep breath. After a few more moments she wiped briskly at her eyes, smiled quick and tight at herself in the rearview mirror, and got out of the car.

 _Stop wallowing,_ she told herself firmly as she walked up to her flat. _It’s not important how much he’s changed. The Doctor’s alive, and that’s all that bloody well matters._

But she couldn’t keep another tear from slipping down her cheek. He had died. She had _seen_ him die. And even if it hadn’t stuck, the Doctor who had come back…well, he wasn’t her Doctor. Not anymore.

“Stop it,” she snapped. She swiped away the errant tear, impatient. Angry. “You’re being foolish, and maudlin, and selfish.”

She fished in her purse for her keys and upon finding them, squared her shoulders, opened the door to the flat, and nearly walked straight into the TARDIS.

“Doctor?”

There was a thud from the other side of the TARDIS, as though he’d fallen off the couch. “I’m fine! Perfectly fine! Absolutely wonderful, no need to check up on me!”

Which was really just about the worst thing you could say to a journalist. Truly alarmed now, Sarah Jane wedged herself through the gap between TARDIS and wall, and caught the Doctor right before he made it into the TARDIS door.

He nearly ran straight into her, braking at the last second, one hand flying out to slam against the blue wood next to her head, bracing himself upright. Sheer fabric slapped her face, it was hanging from his hand.

“Sorry,” he gasped. He was breathing heavily. Sweating. Pupils dilated so that she could barely see the blue of his new eyes, crowded out by darkness. “I really should go, lost track of time, I must…”

He tried to get around her, but she refused to budge and he backed off. Surged forward, and then backed off again when she didn’t move.

_He’s trying not to touch me._

It didn’t make sense, but when she reached out to take hold of his arm, he flinched. The pink fabric he was holding twitched along with his arm, and for the first time Sarah Jane got a good look at it. It was her favorite blouse.

He was holding her blouse in one hand, and his other hand was holding up his trousers. 

_You may find his behavior somewhat…erratic._

Her mind went curiously blank except for these two facts, the blouse and the trousers. There was a third fact that these two facts led up to, she could see it right in front of her but her mind wouldn’t let her look it straight on because it didn’t make any sense, it didn’t—

“What are you doing?” she said, as evenly as she could. Her voice only shook a little.

“You wouldn’t let me leave,” he muttered. He was leaning closer to her now, she could feel his breath on her face. “I couldn’t remember why, but I knew I had to—” He reeled backwards as if struck, tripping over the couch and hitting the floor with a thud. He didn’t get up.

“Doctor!” She dropped to her knees, combed his bangs away from his face. He was feverish. “We need to get you to Dr. Sullivan—”

“No, he won’t be able to—” All his muscles tensed, and he hissed through his teeth. “Ah. Aaah. It’s—it’s all right. I can take care of it, for now. Put it off. Just help me into the TARDIS, there’s a good girl.”

He tried to rise up, but she pushed him back down by his shoulders—and he _let_ her. Which might have been the most worrying thing of all.

“Oh no you don’t,” she said. “Don’t you _dare_ run off to die on me again. You’re not—“ she choked. “You’re not going anywhere until you explain just what is going on.” 

“Aversion therapy,” he muttered. A hollow, hacking laugh. “Of a sort. Gift of the Time Lords.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Trigger. Hid in the genetic code. A little boost, out it pops.”

The puzzle pieces were slotting into place. _You may find his behavior somewhat erratic._ Had Kanpo Rimpoche known? Was that why he had made a point of asking her to look after his old pupil? “Oh, Doctor,” she whispered. Hand through his hair, slick with sweat. She could feel her heart dropping into her stomach. “What did they do to you?”

“Take the thing he loves, and make him need until it hurts, until he—“ A spasm of pain racked his body. “Forces them, or begs them, they wouldn’t see the difference. Just the humiliation that’s—aaah, that’s important. An amusing punishment, their, their—little joke. No casualties, just humans and a renegade.”

She remembered that time in the swimming pool, just after the Exxilon planet, splashing each other and sniping about Florana until he kissed her to turn her mind to things other than teasing. Holding her afterwards, stroking back her hair, cupping her cheek in his palm. _My people—they wouldn’t exactly approve of this, my dear._

 _Well, tough luck for them,_ she’d said with a laugh and a toss of her head, and thought nothing more of it.

“You need sex. With a human.” Part of her wanted to check for Robert Heinlein behind the curtains. It was just his brand of sexed-up science fiction, like a tabloid headline: _SEX OR DEATH. My Lover Is An Alien. Secret Smut Rituals From the Stars._ Against her will, a giggle bubbled up; she gulped it back down. “And my blouse…”

“Pheromones. Thought, maybe, it would be enough, for now, and the room, but…” He gestured, his hand looping in spirals until it clenched as another spasm hit him. He tried to get up again, slipped; she caught him before he hit the floor. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

He looked away, and shook his head.

“Why bloody not?” she demanded. “I could’ve _helped,_ it’s not as if we haven’t done this before—“

“Not like this.” He bit off the words.

It was the way he was very carefully not looking at her, and the way his hands were shaking, and she knew. It wasn’t what she’d been thinking-- _damn you, Doctor, can’t you ever let go of your pride, this is why you_ died _, because you have to face everything on your own_.

No, it was something else entirely: he’d been trying to protect her.

The way he always did.

It was noble and condescending and maddening and sweet and infuriating and…him.

“Still my Doctor,” she said softly, and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. He trembled under her lips, but his face turned towards her, his nose brushing against her hair. “Still your Sarah Jane.” She ran her fingertips lightly, so lightly, over his jaw, and then pulled back to see his face. “Tell me what you need.”

For a second she thought he hadn’t heard her; his eyes were glassy and far-staring, as though the pain had pushed his mind beyond immediate reality, beyond her. Then they focused, for just a moment, on her face and he gasped, “Hands.” Like a man thirsting in the desert.

She slid her hand into his trousers, both of them right there on the floor, easing herself closer to him until she could feel every rustle of fabric, every beat of his hearts.

He was hard, and twitched in her grasp.

She was breathing against his neck. He was warm (too warm, he was burning up) and smelled the same (warmth and musk and sweat) and she could feel the coiled strength in his muscles, vibrating with want, tensed and taut with all the effort of not shoving her to the floor then and there.

She stroked him, and he shivered; she squeezed, and his eyes slid shut, his face turning away. He swallowed, hard.

“Look at me,” she whispered. He had never asked for this before, and so much of him was new. “Please, Doctor.”

He shook his head. His fingers digging into the carpet. 

“I need to know I’m not hurting you.”

“You’re…” A broken sound, not quite a whimper. “Not.”

She didn’t know whether to believe him, but his words were strangled, and with each pull of her hand his breathing grew wilder, more desperate. He started to thrust, quick, shallow.

“Is this enough?” she asked. “Touching you like this? Or should I use my mouth—”

The Doctor came all over her hand.

He sagged back against the couch, his body seeming to cave in against itself like wet paper. Sarah Jane used her left hand to fish a handkerchief out of his pocket and clean them both up, before draping his arm around her shoulders and hauling him to his feet; the trousers fell off completely, and she helped him step out of them. “Come on. You’re sleeping this off where I can keep an eye on you.”

But by the time she got him to her bed, he was hard again, and she could feel him trying hard not to wince at the stabs of pain.

She sat him down on the mattress. “It’s no good, is it? You need a proper shag.”

“Bunch of sticks in the mud,” the Doctor muttered. “Coding the trigger for penetrative sex as though it’s the be-all and end-all. Ha! As Cleopatra said when I—“

Sarah Jane cut him off with a finger to the lips. “You’re rambling, Doctor.” She smiled. “Nervous?”

“Not a bit,” he said with a disdainful sniff. “Terrified, actually.”

Sarah sat down next to him. She clasped her hands between her knees. “We could put it off again if you want, I suppose. It is your choice. But if you have to do it eventually, isn’t it better to get it out of the way? I mean, from where I’m standing, putting it off doesn’t exactly look like a barrel of fun.”

He smiled, crookedly, and nodded. “Whenever did you become so logical?”

“Oh, someone has to keep their head around here.” She stood, and began taking off her skirt. 

“Sarah,” he said, as though it hurt. “I should never have brought you into this. I should never have placed you in their line of fire. I am so terribly—”

 _”Stop it.”_ She pushed him back against the pillows, buried her face against his neck. “You’re here, you’re alive and you’re here and that’s all I ever wanted so don’t you dare say you’re sorry—“

His hand came up and gingerly patted her hair.

“I thought I would never see you again,” she whispered. “And then when you came back, I thought you had _died._ ” The last word wavered, and she blinked back the tears. “Don’t you know? I would do anything for you.”

She pressed her lips against his skin, started kissing her way down his body. He still tasted the same, salt and spice. She took him into her mouth, but only for as long as it took to get herself ready, her left hand moving between her legs; if he came this way it would only be a temporary reprieve.

When she was prepared for him, Sarah kissed her way back up to his collarbone. Steadied herself, and sank down on his cock. Rocked her hips against him. 

He let her pin his wrists to the mattress, his fingers clutching at the sheets; he was helpless, unmoving, transfixed. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung slightly open, and it made him look dazed and star-blinded and utterly hers, and she felt a rush of heat between her legs as she ground against him a little harder.

 _Look after him_ , she thought, _my Doctor, my sweet Doctor, mine. My turn to look after you._

“Right here with you, Doctor,” she said. “Whatever you need, Doctor, right here.”

He was trying so hard to hold still, his hips sometimes jerking up suddenly. He would grunt when he thrust up, sudden and animal, almost a growl, his jaw clenching as he tried to bite back all the sounds. His skin was slick against hers, his breathing harsh. He was looking at her like she was a glistening pastry in a storefront window and he was starving. Like she was water in the desert, like she was a fire-lit angel, like there was nothing but her and the sounds he was biting back because he still couldn’t let go, let go, let go…

Was it the new body? she wondered. Did he not know it yet, not trust it? What must it be like, to be hurled into a new form and bombarded with sensation?

“What do you like?” she asked. She leaned forward, her hair brushing her cheek; he whimpered and thrust up. “Do you still like the same things?” she whispered. “Do you still like to hear me talk?”

She felt his whole body tremble, nearly vibrating inside her.

“I remember,” she murmured into his ear. Feeling her breath bounce off his skin, hearing his own breath catch in his throat. “Everything we did. Everything you liked. Me, on top, riding you. Or in your lap, like that one time in the library.”

He groaned, his Adam’s apple working up and down. His wrists twisted under her grip, his nails scraped along the sheets.

“But what I think you liked best.” Her voice still low. Her hips moving faster now, she couldn’t help it; her breath coming in gasps now too. “Me kneeling in front of you. Or on my hands and knees, and you behind. The good little human and the mighty Time Lord—”

“Please…” 

“I like that,” she whispered. She licked at his ear, tugging with her teeth at the earlobe. “I like hearing you say that.”

“Please, Sarah Jane…” His voice gravel, rasping, uneven and rough. “Please, please, I need…”

She clenched around him, felt herself waver on the edge of her own climax. “You’re right here with me, Doctor,” she soothed. “Right here, long as it takes, right here—”

He came with a shout, his hands breaking free of her restraint—and the shock of that was enough to push her over too, and for one dizzying heart-stopping second after he surged up at her, eyes ravenous and wolfish and predatory, she thought he was going to flip her over and start pounding her into the mattress—

And then he passed out. 

Sarah Jane checked his breathing and his hearts-rate; he seemed all right. She shook his shoulder lightly. “Doctor?”

“Great social changes are impossible without feminine upheaval,” he mumbled, and rolled onto his side.

She curled up next to him, her arm around him and her hand between his hearts, and closed her eyes. Just to rest them. She wasn’t going to fall asleep just yet, just in case he needed her.

xxxxx

When she woke, he was sitting up with his back against the headboard. Her head muzzy with sleep, she reached for him automatically, but he caught her wrist and laid it back at her side. Bent down to kiss her head. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need…”

“Not anymore.” His voice deep and low and warm, like a blanket. “Go to sleep.”

“Will you…”

She couldn’t quite seem to find the words, so it was a relief that he seemed to understand. “Yes. A less dramatic regeneration side-effect: for a few days I’m going to tire very easily.”

“Mmm.” A sleepy smile stole across her face, and she snuggled up against his thigh.

He ran his fingers through her hair. “You really are remarkable, my Sarah Jane.”

She smiled again, her eyes already closed, and drifted back off into sleep. 

He watched her, his eyes suspiciously bright. Traced a line along the bridge of her nose, and let his hand fall to the cotton sheets.

“I really am so very sorry.”


End file.
